Hermione's Yule Ball
by dance-of-the-grindylows
Summary: With only a week to go, Hermione sits in her dormitory and hopes that a particular boy will pop the question. Does she have a chance? After all, she's just Brainy Granger...  RW/HG, Hogwarts era, not canon compliant, no warnings
1. One

**Title:** Hermione's Yule Ball**  
>Rating:<strong> K+  
><strong>Chapter #:<strong> 1  
><strong>Ships:** Ron x Hermione  
><strong>Eras:** Hogwarts  
><strong>Genres:** Romance, General

**NOTE: I recommend you read this in 3/4 width and with the font size 2 steps bigger than the preset. It looks a lot nicer and much easier to read, I think:)**

_Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be rewriting the epilogue right now._

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><p>There were thirty-six cracks along her dormitory ceiling, and one dirty-grey scorch mark. Hermione knew this because she had been staring up at it for so long. Occasionally, during the approximate four hours that she had been lying moodily atop her duvet, Hermione had heard the soft <em>click<em> of the door to the room being opened and spotted Parvati or Lavender's figure moving to fetch something from their bedside cabinet through the translucent curtain fabric of her four-poster; neither girl had attempted to coax her downstairs to the common room or popped her head through the peach-coloured netting between them, though. Hermione was unsure of how she felt about this – on the one hand, she found the other girls in her house still rather grating at the best of times, yet there was definitely a part of her that yearned for someone to weep to. That part of her was the same that craved the asking of a particularly wonderful, magnificent question.

To the other Gryffindors, Hermione was the brainy bookworm who hated breaking rules and missing deadlines. Constantly enveloped in hefty volumes with worn spines, she was never seen with any girls in her year and nobody had ever heard her titter or squeal. She was Harry Potter and Ron Weasley's close friend. She was one of the boys.

But occasionally she hated it. Sometimes, Hermione found herself actually envying the girlish Lavender and Parvati, secretly wishing that the Gryffindor boys would see her as feminine, wink at her like they winked at them. Of course, immediately after thinking this the dominant part of her mind would scold itself for being so ridiculous, locking the thoughts away with the rest of her forbidden feelings in the figurative trunk in the deepest corner of her brain. They wouldn't vanish entirely, however, and sooner or later Hermione would find the locked box rattling again, begging to be opened until it forced itself to burst and the confessions plagued her mind once more.

After three full years of experiencing them, Hermione's mood swings weren't unusual to Ron and Harry, though they had occurred frequently enough for the boys to have established a stay-safe routine with which to defend themselves during one of their friend's volcanic eruptions. All books or other heavy items that had the potential to leave a bruise were kept at bay from her whilst the huff was in motion, and the pair would sit opposite her in lessons and at mealtimes, rather than settle next to her and risk being stabbed with a quill-nib or fork.

They were probably seated together now, Hermione mused. Presumably muttering about how irritating her current behaviour was, or praising the Beauxbatons' backsides. Indeed, the cordial reception of the foreign girls had not gone unnoticed by Hermione. She had seen the way he'd looked at them. Sharing a sideways glance with the other guys, he'd dropped his jaw just like most other males in the Great Hall had done when the girls entered. With most of them being part-Veela, and _French_ - not to mention their airy ballet piece as they fluttered into the centre of the Hall - they were irresistible to men, even to one in particular, to —

Her thoughts were cut short as the dormitory door was slammed shut, accompanied with the trademark squeals of her roommates. Next thing Hermione knew, the curtains to her four-poster were being thrust aside and a practically bouncing Lavender thrust herself atop the sheets, followed shortly by Parvati. Both girls' hands were flailing in the air, huge grins plastered on their pretty faces.

"Good afternoon to you too," Hermione said curtly, wriggling to sit upright at the top of the bed. Despite her derisive tone, she had to admit that she was curious as to what news had made the girls so ecstatic. The shrieking continued for a while longer, however, regardless of her expectant expression, and it wasn't until Hermione loudly cleared her throat that it ceased.

"You'll _never_ guess what," Parvati began, her eyes shining. Lavender's face, meanwhile, was scrunched up tightly as she rocked back and forth, as if the temptation to finish off her best friend's sentence was killing her.

"SEAMUS FINNIGAN ASKED ME TO THE YULE BALL!"

Lavender's exclamation set the squealing off again, but Hermione could barely crack a fake smile at the news. It was not that she had feelings for Seamus – he was fairly good-looking and all, but she didn't like him as much more than a friend – but the matter of yet another girl finding a date before her made her heart twinge a little. For one thing, at least, she was thankful; Lavender hadn't obliterated her chance at getting the boy she desired.

Ron Weasley was still available.


	2. Two

**Title:** Hermione's Yule Ball**  
>Rating:<strong> K+  
><strong>Chapter #:<strong> 2  
><strong>Ships:** Ron x Hermione  
><strong>Eras:** Hogwarts  
><strong>Genres:** Romance, General

**NOTE: I recommend you read this in 3/4 width and with the font size 2 steps bigger than the preset. It looks a lot nicer and much easier to read, I think:)**

_Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be rewriting the epilogue right now._

* * *

><p>Another day of waiting crossed off, another tedious night in the common room to follow. Hermione had been persuaded to venture downstairs by a pleading Lavender and Parvati; she had succumbed to agreeing after a short while of begging. Although she had tried to pass off as reluctant, however, a fraction of her was dying to see Ron and Harry. Partly because she hadn't seen them at all that day, what with it being a Saturday and so not having to go to classes, but also because she had to check that <em>he<em> wasn't wrapped around some Gryffindor girl that he had secured a date with in her absence.

Checking her attire was appropriate before heading down the spiral staircase a little behind Parvati and Lavender, Hermione sighed. She would play nonchalant that evening. Knowing that Harry and Ron thought they had to tread on eggshells around her made her feel guilty; she was ready to show them a happier face, to put both parties out of their misery. Around the lower steps, when the common room opened up before her, she caught a flicker of red hair and her heart performed a somersault. But before she could take one step closer to the sofa near the fire where her best friends were lounging, she was sidetracked by Neville.

He tapped her shoulder and gestured her over to the corner. With one last fleeting look at Ron and Harry, neither of whom had spotted her, she followed him.

"Hi, Hermione, um ..." began a dithering Neville. They had stopped in such a fashion that gave Hermione an unobstructed view of the boys, who were chatting to Fred and George. "I - I just wanted to ask you ..."

"Yes, Neville?" Despite her best efforts to disguise it, a hint of her exasperation was released along with the question. She assumed he was after help with Potions or Charms, which wasn't uncommon, yet if that was the case why was he wavering so much?

"Yule Ball with me you'll go?" Neville stumbled over his words in a rush to spit it out, his face flushing scarlet instantly. "Er, I mean, will you go to the Yule Ball with me?"

It took all of Hermione's might to refrain her jaw from dropping. As if her wishes had been granted, she'd been asked ... but not by the right boy. She considered Neville for a moment. He was kind, reliable, honest and sweet, though not academically outstanding - oddly enough, his attributes mostly matched up with Ron's. Realising this made Hermione feel even worse to let him down. She couldn't straight out say 'no'; that would be far too rude. However, she had to respond quickly, else Neville would suffer as much internal hurt as she did. "Oh, Neville, I'm extremely flattered," she started, grimacing inside as she watched his face drop in anticipation of the imminent next word, "but someone's already asked me, sorry."

Finding herself burdened with a huge lie, as soon as the words had left Hermione's lips she regretted them. Neville was in Ron's dormitory; what would she do if he passed on the false information and the latter thought her unavailable? Though she highly doubted he returned her feelings for him, and decided that she mustn't get ahead of herself. Sure, there had been a few moments between them in the past, but Hermione had convinced herself that it was just wishful thinking on her part believing that Ron had felt the little sparks too.

"That's fine, no worries," replied Neville glumly. He attempted a flicker of a smile, causing a wave of guilt to crash over Hermione. In an attempt to reconcile, she stopped him as he turned to leave.

Looking straight into his eyes, she said, earnestly as possible, "You know, Neville, if you had asked me first I'm sure I would have said yes." Finishing her little white lie with what she hoped was a cordial smile, Hermione nodded slowly and made to walk away, leaving a triumphant-looking Neville redder than ever.

Before reaching the fire, Hermione paused to glance over at her friends; none of them appeared to have spotted her yet. For a fleeting moment, she didn't want to head towards them and converse. But that notion passed in an instant, and so – with as much poise as she could muster – she walked towards the boys at the sofa, trying to induce a slight Beauxbatons wiggle into her step.

"Oh, evening Hermione," called George Weasley. He was sitting next to his twin, Fred, across from Harry and Ron. Upon seeing Hermione, Fred scooted over and made room between he and George for her to sit. She did so with a smile and murmured greeting.

Harry looked towards the clock above the fireplace's mantle. "Where have you gotten off to all day? Me and Ron didn't see you at all" – he shared a hesitant glance with Ron before continuing – "you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine, honestly, just felt a little ill, that's all."

Opposite from her, Hermione noticed Ron had not yet met her eye. He was currently throwing glances all about the room and scratching the back of his neck, seemingly trying to avoid looking at her. Noticing this threw Hermione back into a full self-doubt mode. Had he realised that she had feelings for him? Had this ruined their friendship? Did he not return them? Did he hate her now, for wrecking the status quo?

Countless other thoughts like these flew through her mind, whilst the tiny, optimistic patch of her brain sent out others: perhaps he had heard from Neville that she wasn't available, and this had upset him? Or maybe the awkwardness was due to him harbouring affection for her and not knowing how to put it? Maybe the fact she was sitting in between his brothers and not next to him had irked him?

As the positive- and negative-thinking sides of her mind duelled, Hermione tried to keep focused on what the others were saying. Harry was chuckling and the twins high-fiving, so she assumed a joke had been told and laughed a little too.

"So, only a week to go, eh?"

She mentally cursed Fred. Why had he had to bring up the one topic she was desperate to avoid?

"Ah, of course!" joined George. "Angelina had second thoughts yet, Freddie, or has she still not seen your face?" He winked at Hermione, whose laugh was genuine that time.

"Oh, shut up, else I'll tell Katie about that time last year, with the gnome—"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I, Georgie?"

The twins never failed to make Hermione smile, and as Harry jokily asked for more details about that particular anecdote she had to scamper off the couch else face intercepting George's thump at Fred. Their harmless fighting continued as she looked at Ron, wondering what he made of it. His eyes flickered to hers for a moment, a reflection of the amber flames glowing in their irises. She couldn't quite decipher his expression: it was closed and difficult to read. Not understanding why he was acting so strangely saddened Hermione, and she suddenly didn't want to sit with him anymore. Feigning a headache, she excused herself from the group around the fireplace and jogged up the staircase to her dormitory, leaving a bewildered Fred, George and Harry and an anxious-looking Ron behind.


	3. Three

**Title:** Hermione's Yule Ball**  
>Rating:<strong> K+  
><strong>Chapter #:<strong> 3  
><strong>Ships:** Ron x Hermione  
><strong>Eras:** Hogwarts  
><strong>Genres:** Romance, General

**NOTE: I recommend you read this in ¾ width and with the font size 2 steps bigger than the preset. It looks a lot nicer and much easier to read, I think **

_Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be rewriting the epilogue right now._

* * *

><p>Hermione didn't come across anyone else on her way back to the dormitory; it seemed as though the entirety of Gryffindor House was in the common room. This didn't surprise her, however, as one glance towards the rain-smattered windows cleared up any confusion as to why. Pausing a moment outside her bedroom's door, she pressed an ear against the cold wood: no trace of Parvati or Lavender could be heard. Taking this news as a happy blessing, she turned the doorknob and stepped inside, immediately being almost knocked down by a great gust of wind.<p>

Clinging onto the edge of the door for support, Hermione's frenzied eyes scanned the room. It appeared empty, though the far window had been flung open, presumably causing the mighty draught. Carefully, she reached for her wand. After a swift flick, the window swung shut with an awful _CLANK_, but not before it had permitted a huge, white blur to whirl through the air towards Hermione.

She threw herself to the ground to dodge it, breathing heavily and staying still until silent calm had settled in again. Only then, when all seemed completely devoid of hazardous flying objects and overwhelming rushes of air, did Hermione stand up and dust herself off. Crossing the room, she found the white object had landed atop her bed. At first glance, it simply looked like a messy jumble of paper, yet upon closer inspection she found it to be very meticulously folded and creased. Curiosity burning inside, Hermione stretched out a hand to retrieve it; the intriguing object had landed on her bed, after all, so who was to say that it might not be intended for her? Her wrist dangled uncertainly in the air for a moment as she bit her lower lip. Nobody was around, and the debacle seemed planned somehow. Perhaps it was a new form of owl post.

Making up her mind, though still not absolutely resolute, she put her wand aside and eased onto the bed, staring plainly at the mass which lay atop it. Then, as carefully as if it was a newborn child, Hermione slid both hands beneath the item and set it onto her lap. She could feel the rough scratchiness of paper, confirming her initial suspicions. In the precise centre of the bulk of paper, however, there was a small, solid black spot. A notion came to Hermione, and she lifted her wand again, holding the tip to the inked-on circle. The two matched up almost perfectly.

Instantly, the spot dissolved. Hermione took her wand away, and watched enthralled as the stacked pages began to rustle. They floated out of her hands and into the space above her, emanating a soft fluttering noise, and unfolded delicately yet deliberately. Before her eyes, letters were made legible from the cut-out shapes and folds of the paper. The method was similar to the unravelling of newspaper-dolls Hermione crafted when she was much younger, only this time the end product was much less crudely-fashioned.

After a further minute, the motion of the paper came to a stop, the final touch being the slightly comical dotting of an 'I'. Hermione was thankful that she had been perched on her bed, for if the mattress had not been beneath her for support, she may well have collapsed of giddy shock and hurt herself. Scanning her eyes across the snowy parchment once more to ensure they weren't playing tricks on her, Hermione couldn't help but let out a squeak of joy. For hovering in front of her, plain as day, were the words she had been waiting for, all connected by thin strips and curves of paper:

_**Hermione Granger, grab your dress robes.**_

_**I'll see you at the Ball.**_

_**X**_

After resuming a regular breathing pattern and trying in vain to return her heart rate to a normal thump, Hermione stood to closer inspect the message. The only other detail to be noted, she discovered, was tiny writing along the diagonals of the kiss stuck at the end. Neatly printed, it read the meeting place: _Black Lake. Directly opposite entrance._

Whoever had sent the enchanted, beautifully-crafted letter had certainly been careful to conceal their identity. The print was so painstakingly written that it could have been pasted straight from the pages of a textbook. That led Hermione to thinking; she couldn't help but wonder who had sent it. Near-perfect charm work suggested a gifted scholar, but the best male in her year at Charms was Terry Boot, and he was already going with Lisa Turpin, she'd heard. Perhaps, she considered, it wasn't someone from her year? She shook the idea from her head immediately; it was ridiculous. Besides, the only people from a different year who would be able to invite her to the Ball would be those older than her: only Lee Jordan, the Weasley twins and Cedric Diggory knew her well enough to even consider asking, and even if they didn't all have dates, it was highly doubtful they would like her that way anyway. Sure, Fred and George winked at her a lot and said some things rather flirtily, she supposed, but they were like that with most girls – it was just a part of their personality.

In addition to the older boys, she could certainly cross off Neville and Seamus: Neville because he wouldn't have asked her in person as well as sending the message, it would be foolish; Seamus because he was taking Lavender, as she had learned earlier. Hermione glanced back up at the hovering message before her, noticing that the black spot had reappeared, this time on the dot above the 'I'.

She tapped it a second time with her wand, watching it be absorbed seamlessly into the parchment. Seconds later, the words flipped and folded until they were only a jumbled stack of paper once more, and drifted gently back down to rest on her lap. Hermione retrieved a box of keepsakes from underneath her bed and charily set the invitation inside before putting it back.

She then flopped down onto her pillow, finding herself in the same position that she had begun the day with, yet ending it in a far greater mood.

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><p><em>AN: I'd just like to leave a quick 'thank you' for my readers and reviewers – I wasn't initially going to continue writing until a few days from now, but the fact that people are interested kept me going and somehow I've managed to give you the next instalment today! Thanks again, and expect the following – and final – part of this little fic shortly :)_


	4. Four

**Title:** Hermione's Yule Ball**  
>Rating:<strong> K+  
><strong>Chapter #:<strong> 4 (of 4)  
><strong>Ships:** Ron x Hermione  
><strong>Eras:** Hogwarts  
><strong>Genres:** Romance, General

**NOTE: I recommend you read this in ¾ width and with the font size 2 steps bigger than the preset. It looks a lot nicer and much easier to read, I think**

_Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be rewriting the epilogue right now._

* * *

><p>As Hermione gazed listlessly at the canopy of her four-poster the night preceding the Ball, she chewed the inside of her cheek and mulled the week's events over. Usually, she did this with schoolwork and deadlines on her mind, but that night her head was full of questions, fears and worries all relating to the Ball. She had, in her opinion, hidden her anxiousness well – Harry and Ron appeared to be under the impression she'd failed in securing a date. Ordinarily, she would be huffy at this and snap back at them, yet this time she had swallowed her pride: Hermione would let nothing ruin the night for her.<p>

Tucked away safely beneath her bed were her dress robes. Stitched by her own mother during the summer holidays, they were floaty and elegant, a soft periwinkle colour that complimented her skin and figure perfectly. Aiming for classic grace over what was currently fashionable, she and Mrs. Granger had watched films from the 1950s starring timeless beauties such as Audrey Hepburn and taken notes of their style.

Admittedly, a few modern issues of _Miss Witch_ had been used for inspiration too, but Hermione remained certain that her dress would be something special. She just hoped that this view was shared by the other attendees and, most importantly, her unknown partner.

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><p>Snow lightly treaded the path along which Hermione edged slowly. Curving slightly, it soon deposited her at the bank of the Black Lake, a small jetty formed from planks of wood criss-crossed to make a square. She glanced at the sky; the moon was only just sailing above the trees, signalling that the Yule Ball was to begin shortly. The air was crisp and bitter as it struck her exposed arms and she shivered, clamping her teeth together firmly to prevent them chattering. Hermione hadn't been waiting for even a minute, and yet worry was already setting in. Had she really been set up, after all?<p>

Her line of vision turned back to the lake; its shimmering waters were completely undisturbed, save for the occasional ripple that caused the surface to shimmer. The sight was truly beautiful, yet tainted partly by Hermione's woes. She told herself she was being impatient and imprudent, clasping her hands together and trying not to wring them out of fretfulness. Everything would be fine. But if that were true, why had he not showed up? Biting her lip, she patted a hand over her hair, checking the wavy knot was still in place. And it had taken her so long to prepare; all for nothing.

"I like your dress."

The voice that came from behind her was familiar, unmistakeable. Hermione felt her heart leap to her throat. She turned ever so slowly, praying she hadn't imagined it; that the words had truly been spoken by the one voice she had hoped to hear.

He stood in tatty, hand-me-down robes, lanky and awkward-looking – the complete opposite of the Prince Charming heroes she had read about as a young girl.

Yet Hermione wouldn't have changed a thing.

"Ron?" she whispered, rushing towards the boy.

"Who else?"

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><p><em>AN: Well, that's it! I hope you enjoyed it, and I'm grateful to anyone reading this for sticking with the story to the end. As always, reviews absolutely make my day. It only takes a second to write one but it means a lot to me, so thank you to all those who've reviewed so far or added it to thei__r Alerts or Favourites :)_


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